Pulvis et umbra sumus
by ironbutterfly25
Summary: Albert Wesker was incapable of dying without taking the world with him. She could have died with the helicopter crashing on the unforgiving ground, perished in the volcano's raging flames, or slaughtered by his devastating wrath. But when her eyes opened again, she gazed at neither heaven nor hell. Jill Valentine found herself in Raccoon City once more.
1. restart

_**Pulvis et umbra sumus**_

 _We are but dust and shadows_

* * *

 _Chapter 1: restart_

* * *

The helicopter's blades broke into pieces - its sound deafening to her ears. Jill scrambled for the rocket launchers scattered on the floor, as the tyrant rampaged in the inferno below them. She loaded the RPGs with a warhead and a booster, preparing to deal the final blow. Uncertainty settled in her gut when she hauled the weapon over her shoulder. Its weight on her tired body strangely overwhelming. There was a tremble in her bones. She had not gone _against_ him for years. All thoughts of retaliation were shredded by the drug. All attempts were futile after she was literally wired to follow his will.

"Chris! Sheva! Use these!" She handed the weapons to her brave companions, all the while wondering why she couldn't use them herself, why she could not just trust herself. The P30 had filled her bloodstream for so long, the possibility of its poisonous residue changing her—it scared her. It was a risk she couldn't take.

The chopper tilted. Josh's voice cut through the air, filled with panic.

Her stomach dropped. She pressed herself tight in a corner, eyes sliding close.

She should have gone with Chris from the moment he had freed her from Wesker's control. But she had stayed behind... for no discernible reason besides shameful cowardice.

 _What was she afraid of?_

She looked at Chris. He tried to lock his aim on their nemesis without falling off of the dying bird.

Jill could smell it... with the gas leaking... with the smoke reaching... and with the flames raging around them. She could smell _death_ coming.

The missiles were launched.

They hit home. Chris never missed. The best marksman until the very end.

And then they were _falling_ , spiraling down.

Chris reached for her, crushed her in his hold as he murmured reassuring words on her hair. "He's dead, Jill. It's over. It's finally over... We're going home..."

She returned his embrace, cried on his shoulder as she whispered distressing words on his skin. "We're not going to make it, Chris..."

His hands were heavy on her small shoulders. He placed a little space in between them to look into her eyes. Chris cradled her face in his warm palms, and smiled. He was steadfast and strong even in the face of their demise.

"Yeah. This might be _it_ for us... I'm always with you, partner. We'll meet again on the other side."

She caught his tear-stained lips with hers and held tight onto his hands as everything else shattered out of focus.

Death had tried to claim her before. _Twice_. The first was inside that church in a burning city as the virus ravaged her body. The second was inside the arms of the _god of death_ himself, but he had chosen to breathe life back into her instead.

She remembered the excruciating process of returning to the land of the living...

It had been painful... difficult.

The helicopter crashed. There was unbearable heat and suffocating smoke. There was one split second of immense pain before everything faded into complete whiteness and blackness.

Then it was painless.

What was that saying?

— _Third time's the charm_.

* * *

 _Beep. Beep. Beep._

Falling and drowning. She couldn't breathe. Her lungs felt deflated, trapping the air out.

 _Beep. Beep. Beep._

Falling and breaking. She couldn't move. Her bones felt broken, useless under her stretched skin.

 _Beep. Beep. Beep._

Falling and just falling. She couldn't think. Her whole body felt alarmingly hollowed.

Pain and numbness mingled and plagued her. _Why couldn't she just rest in peace—_

Her eyes snapped open and everything came rushing back in. White noise in her ears. Bright lights in her eyes. Her lungs greedily gulped down oxygen. Her limbs lashed out all at once. Her body was whole but felt desensitized.

"Jill?" Someone called out, a familiar voice. Her head turned slightly to its direction. Her vision was blurry. "Jill." Her heart raced as she recognized Barry's voice. The image of him was hazy. But she could see that he was holding a sandwich in his hand. "The doctors said you will be coming out any moment soon. But I didn't expect that it will be now!" He moved closer. She could vaguely make out the smell of melted cheese and tuna reeking from him.

But why was Barry... _here_?

Her eyes scanned her surroundings—newly painted white walls... freshly arranged flowers... recently changed IV drip. She was in a typical hospital room.

Did Barry fly out all the way to Africa? Did he came to get them out just like what he did back in Raccoon? _Where was Chris?_

"Chris?" Her voice was a pathetic croak. It scratched its way out of her parched throat, grating on her ears.

 _How long had she been out?_

Barry's features became clearer with each passing second. He busied himself by a small table, pouring a glass of water for her to drink.

"Where's Chris...?", she asked again, disoriented as Barry came to stand next to her bed. Her words were slurred as she searched her body for grotesque burns and hideous scars. _Nothing_. Even the skin on her chest was flawless. Her fingers slipped into the loose collar of the hospital gown, her brows furrowing in confusion. The tubes that were once inserted into her flesh were merciless and had made each day a misery to live in. The jewel had always scorched her skin whenever the drug dose was made more potent.

She looked at Barry again. His face was clear now... and younger somehow. He placed a hand under her tensed shoulder, tried to ease her up on the pillows. She recoiled, curling in tight against the mattress.

"Barry... Where is Chris?" The monitor set up to watch her heart rate released a startling loud beep. They both turned to it, watched as her heartbeat increased.

"He's at the headquarters. We're taking turns to check up on you."

"Is he okay? He wasn't injured? Not at all?" Her questions seemed to baffle Barry for a moment.

"He wasn't that close to the explosion when it happened. You, however—"

"Is Wesker dead?" That particular query seemed to offend the older man. An unimpressed frown drew his mouth down.

Somehow she felt the need to apologize, just so she could erase that disappointed look on Barry's face.

"I mean—"

"Wesker took the brunt of the blow. The doctor said it will take a little longer for him to wake. His vitals have been stable. The captain shielded you from the explosion." Barry was cracking a joke, obviously trying to make her laugh or something. Her lips parted to tell him to cut it out, that he could at least try to make another joke that could be well-received by her, that he could consider that this was _not_ a funny situation at all. "The operation was pretty tensed and tough. But we managed anyway. It wasn't your fault that there was another bomb... You wouldn't be able to disable it in time. Wesker—"

"Stop it, Barry!", she spat out. Her chest heaved. It hurt to shout. A pounding started deep in her head, dragging a cry out of her mouth. Her throat was closing up... Her tears spilled, rolling down her cheeks. Her shoulders were wracked with tremors as her hands balled into fists against the sheets.

 _What was he saying?_

The pounding in her head worsened.

"Stay calm, Jill." Barry left the glass in his hand on the table. "I'll get your doctor!" She watched him rush out of the room. The sliding door banged loudly on the wall when he opened it.

She took a deep breath in, willed herself to calm down. Her fingers reached for the drip secured under her skin. Her hand shook as she carelessly pulled it out. Then she was throwing the sheets off of her body. Her pulse on the monitor became erratic with each anxious movement. The oximeter was ripped off of her fingertip next and she slid off of the hospital bed.

Her body felt lighter. Her skin was pale... but not as pallid as before.

Something was off.

Something was not right.

 _What was it?_

Her knees buckled as she tried to reach the door. She managed to catch herself on her hands and knees on the hard floor. Her limbs trembled with the lack of strength. But she crawled towards the nearest wall, dragged herself up with its help as she continued making her way to the exit.

A slim vertical window was carved out of the door's frame. The sight of her reflection on the looking glass made her heart stop and time halt.

She found herself staring at the image of her at _twenty-two_.

* * *

Jill willed herself, _harder_ , to a sense of calmness. She composed herself, mechanically pushed herself back under the stiff blankets and onto the thin mattress of Raccoon General Hospital.

It was only a disturbing dream. Her rationale said as panic tried to overtake her being.

She only had to go back to sleep, she thought as she stared up at the newly painted ceiling, or _wait_ to be jolted back to the reality that was Kijuju.

Her entire body tightened as she kept her eyes shut.

Concentrating... Hoping... Praying...

Fate couldn't be this _cruel_. God couldn't be this _pitiless_.

Her world didn't change when she opened her eyes again.

* * *

She found a newspaper left on the chair Barry had been occupying. The date stamped on the issue was _—_ _Sunday, May 11, 1997_ _—_ ten days before her twenty-third birthday.

The third time was supposed to be a charm. The third time was supposed to work. Her third death was supposed to give her deliverance.

What was really expected from her?

When would she be done with all of this?

How was she to survive this vicious trial?

 _Her questions were always unanswered_.

* * *

The hospital discharged her the following day. Chief Irons allowed her to take the rest of the week off and instructed her to report back to work the very next week. Each friendly face made her stomach turn. Each smiling face made her head ache. Each dead face made her want to run away.

Maybe she could pack up and leave.

It wasn't like it had been specified that she continue playing the role of a heroine.

Maybe she could pack up and leave.

It wasn't like she was there to relive each horror Raccoon and Umbrella had to offer.

Maybe she could pack up and leave.

It wasn't like all those dreadful events that happened in another life was set to happen again in this life.

 _Maybe she could—_

"Jill!" Chris tucked her small frame under his arm, pulling her close against his tall form. She stared ahead at the bustling street, terrified to look at him. The first time she had gazed at his unlined and carefree face, she had broken down _—_ cried and sobbed for reasons she couldn't explain to the rest of the S.T.A.R.S. "We're visiting Captain Wesker. You want to come with us?"

"No, Chris." She expected the disappointed look on his young face, nearly disapproving of her show of ungratefulness.

Her life had been saved by Albert Wesker.

 _Again_.

* * *

 _May 16, 1997, Friday_ —Her own wall calendar taunted her. She had spent the last five days trying to reinstate herself into the alternate society.

The same apartment unit was being rented by her in this time. The red sofa set in the living room had been replaced the other day. It was ugly. She didn't know why she had bought it in the first place.

A sage green couch served as its substitute. The throw pillows were striped with white. Green was good. It looked clean and calm against the beige walls and the tanned hardwood floor of her flat.

Lighting a cigarette, the smell of lit tobacco leaves immediately reminded her why she had stopped smoking a long time ago. But she needed it, as her lips wrapped around the white filter. The hurried drags she then took did nothing to reduce her stress. She had tried getting dead drunk and it did nothing to change her current situation as well.

What was she supposed to do here?

* * *

 _May 18, 1997, Sunday_ —Her wrist watch now read 7:44 p.m. Visitation hours were until 8:00 p.m. She had decided to take the longer route to the hospital. And she had decided to deliberately walk in small and slow steps.

She would most likely be turned away. Unfortunately.

Then she would have to drop by another time... preferably with her shiny new Beretta on her person.

"He's in Room 407.", the hospital's receptionist informed her. "We're having some trouble with the elevator. I'm sorry for the inconvenience, Miss, but you will have to take the stairs." The woman was fair and kind-looking. And Jill couldn't help it but wonder if the woman survived the September 1998 outbreak. Her mind then, without any warnings, conjured up an image of the woman's face—rabid and rotting.

Her whole body recoiled at the terrible mental image. And she had to run to the stairs to disperse the thought.

There was a high possibility that she would go crazy before Raccoon turned into an infested city.

* * *

A man was sliding the door close to Room 407 when she came. It was Vice-Captain Marini, paying a visit to the person who would put a bullet in his heart a year later. His face brightened at the sight of her.

"Visiting Wesker too huh, Jill?" She gave a small nod, unenthusiastic about the whole thing. "Dr. Birkin said he should be waking up soon. No one wants to worry but the good doctor had been saying that for two weeks now." He let out a sigh and she felt compelled to give a comment.

"How is he?", she asked carefully, her concern well-practiced.

"Nonfatal burns. His left side took most of the impact. The flames caused second degree burns on his left arm. It looked really bad when we first brought him in. There might be some serious scarring." _Scarring_ , she scoffed at the probability. The virus he would eventually inject himself with would most likely take care of that little flaw on his physical appearance. She hoped that he would be horrendous for as long as possible.

"It was my fault.", she said, tone laced with pretend guilt. "Now the captain is in a coma." Enrico retained his clement expression as he placed a hand on her shoulder, squeezing then patting. He had always been fond of her, kind to her like Barry.

"No one's at fault here, Jill.", he started, voice mild but solid. "Don't let guilt eat you up. Is this the reason why you refused to check on him in the past few days? No one is blaming you. In all honesty, you took the biggest risk on the disposal of that bomb. It was simply too late when we had gotten the tip that there was another explosive in the area."

She didn't even know what the mission was about. She would have to read the report on _that_ once she returned to work on Monday.

"I have to return to the R.P.D. Will you be okay on your own here? You have nothing to worry about. Wesker is notably less frightening asleep." He laughed a little and that made her smile.

"Thank you, Enrico. I'll be fine here on my own."

Her features arranged themselves into a carefree mask.

"The captain never scared me anyway."

* * *

Inviting herself into the room, she immediately took notice of how the entirety of his left arm was loosely bandaged. The rest of him was unblemished.

He almost looked like a different person without his signature sunglasses and with that serenity on his face.

What if he was a _different person_ in this time?

Jill walked towards the room's window. She gazed out at the shimmering lights on the expanse of Raccoon City.

What if there would be _no_ viral outbreak?

She turned to him again. He was silent and seemingly harmless on that mattress. She found herself taking a seat on the empty chair at the side of his bed.

What if the chain of tragedies could be changed?

The sound of his pulse from the heart monitor seeped into her ears. It was a lulling sound, compelling her hand to smooth the thin blanket covering his still body. It was too quiet in that room. And in her head, his anger and curses and out of control power raged like a storm. She shivered at the memory.

Her eyes fell on the lines on his right palm. She studied them, fascinated by the carves and scars there. It appeared strange on him - the signs of humanity. His hands had always been in leather gloves. Always hidden. Untouchable. Her finger traced over his callouses now, all the while wondering if she could foresee his character and his future by fixating on the unsuspecting marks on his skin.

 _"How will our fates unfold now, Dr. Wesker?"_

* * *

 **Author's Notes:** Admittedly, Pulvis is pretty dear to me, probably because it's fun and just lighter in a sense compared to my other JillWesk works. And it's in S.T.A.R.S. setting and that has always been my favorite. Also, time travel, 'let's fix it' fics have always been entertaining to me. So I hope, this one will be an enjoyable enough read! Expect some smut (of course it's ME, it's just my weakness haha) and dark romance and confusing angst ahahaha!

As always, thank you for reading and giving my works a try!

Your thoughts and comments are always welcome~:D


	2. dies natalis

**_Pulvis et umbra sumus_**

 _We are but dust and shadows_

* * *

 _Chapter 2: dies natalis {birthday}_

* * *

 _May 21, 1997, Wednesday_ —Her twenty-third birthday fell on a working day.

Now at twenty-three years of age for the second time around, she pinched her cheeks twenty-three times in front of her closet mirror. Her skin was turning more than pinkish... until it turned into an angry shade of red.

She had died inside that helicopter. It was something she should make peace with. The hellish flames then consumed everything that had once mattered to her. There was no other reason for this limbo she found herself stranded into every single day.

Chris...

Sheva...

Josh...

They all had died... _even Wesker_.

Sporting a furious flush on her face, she fixed the blue beret on her head.

There was simply no waking up from this ordeal.

* * *

Upon arriving at the office, her desk was found decorated with scattered metallic confetti. A simple birthday banner was attached on the wall. The chocolate crepe cake in Chris's hands looked appetizing.

"Happy birthday, partner!" His wide smile was irresistably charming. Joseph started singing _'Happy Birthday'_ in the most out of tune rendition she had ever heard. Barry, Brad, and the members of Bravo team barely saved the song.

It felt _unreal_. Tears just streamed down her face.

"Thank you, guys. Y-You're all the best."

It felt _so real_. She was so happy to see them all again— _alive and well_.

She made a wish as the little flame on her birthday candle was blown away.

— _'Please let me keep this happiness.'_

* * *

The whipped cream was heavenly on her tongue. The sifted powdered sugar on top of the cake was almost too sweet for her teeth. But overall, the dessert was an absolute treat. She wanted to ask if they had bought it from a bakery or maybe Barry's wife had made it especially for her.

"How are you feeling, Jill?" Joe rolled his seat close to her. She turned to him and smiled a genuine smile.

"Pretty good. I... seem to have a kind of devil's luck or something. Got out of that operation intact and uninjured." He laughed as his hands retied the red bandanna on his head. Her gaze shifted to the curve of his throat. At the back of her mind, she could hear the snarling of ferocious canines... the sound of tearing skin as sharp teeth sunk in unguarded flesh. She nervously swallowed and turned away as Joseph Frost's image changed into that of a half-eaten corpse.

Maybe she could see a psychologist about this.

It was unhealthy to firmly believe that the same horrifying events would happen again.

She could at least try to live a normal life.

Wasn't that the point of having a _second chance_?

* * *

"The hospital just called. Wesker is awake." The announcement caused a knee-jerk reaction from her. Her boots noisily bumped against the sides of the wooden desk as she shot up from her seat. Barry's eyebrows raised at her clumsy actions.

"We can't all go and see him now. So who would like to go with Jill?"

Chris was out on a mission with Bravo.

Joseph was tasked with the routine maintenance.

Barry was to stay to man the office.

Brad slid into his vivid yellow vest. It didn't take long for her mind to splash an added crimson hue to his clothes. All she could do was look away and banish the image of the experimental Tyrant hissing... and chasing them around Raccoon.

"We can take my car." The pilot said to her with a small smile on his bleeding mouth.

* * *

"I must warn you... He's quite irritable." A sandy blond doctor told them in an almost conspiratorial tone. Chickenheart immediately bristled at the thought of his cranky captain. "Just be understanding. He's been out of the loop for more than three weeks. I can't say if he can be discharged at the moment. We have to run some tests first." She nodded as she eyed the name tag on the doctor's impeccably white coat—' _Dr. Birkin_ '.

The man who created the G-Virus was standing before her, parading like an actual physician.

If only she could uncover his secrets and bring them to be judged... and rightfully executed...

* * *

She and Brad stood like school kids at the far corner of the room, waiting to be scolded. The captain's ice blue eyes were piercing under the bright afternoon sun. He was almost squinting. His eyes had always been sensitive to too much light. Or maybe that was just him being _allergic_ to anything bright and light.

"How are you feeling, Captain?" Brad asked, his words almost fearful.

"Well enough." She nearly flinched at the sound of his gravely voice.

But Albert Wesker was human... _still_.

There was nothing to be afraid of.

Brad excused himself in the pretense of getting some warm meal for the patient. Her teammate didn't stop even when their captain said that he had already eaten.

That left her alone with her supposed savior.

"Thank you for saving my life, Captain Wesker."

The words seemed to _burn like acid_ on her tongue.

* * *

"The leader of the terrorist group remains at large. Most of the members had been apprehended and are being kept for interrogation. Chances are... He had already escaped to one of the cities close to Raccoon." She had briefed herself on the details of the mission that caused her to be hospitalized. In the deep recesses of her mind, she was able to dig up a memory of her participating in a S.T.A.R.S. operation of the same nature. Wesker was _indeed_ with her during the bomb disposal. The only difference now was the _explosion_ that happened... And it somehow prompted him to protect her.

The drink in her hand was still too hot. It was scalding in her mouth. But she welcomed the pain. It kept her focus on other things besides the calculating look the bandaged man was giving her at the moment.

"I doubt he escaped. The reasoning of these terrorists gear them to finish what they start." He would certainly know how a terrorist's mind worked... considering his future career change. "What measures has the Chief taken for now?" She watched him assess the bandage wrapped around his left arm. There was concern in his features... and _undeniable pain_. The wounds were probably swelling.

"Adjusted curfew hours. Tightened security. More patrols in the city." He gave a curt nod at her statement.

"I will be able to return to work soon. I hope the rest of you are holding up well in my absence." Her cup of coffee was nearly empty. The taste was too mellow... delicate. She would have preferred something with more depth... and spiced. The blend had the same effect anyway... awakening her senses.

"Wesker, are you friends with Dr. William Birkin?"

* * *

The question rattled him. She could see it in his eyes even when his expression remained calm and composed.

"I believe he's the doctor assigned to me. A friendly relation with him would be... advisable for my well-being." Her teeth dug on her bottom lip. She should be patient. Nothing would be solved if she was reckless.

But how could she get into the _core_ of all of this?

"He seems to be quite attentive. I wish the doctor that had been assigned to me was the same." She stood from her chair, depositing her empty cup into the trash can near the bedside table.

"The others will most likely visit by the end of our shift. It's good to see that you're doing well, Captain. See you at work soon." It took all of her willpower to smile at him... to look glad because of his hasty recovery.

She meant to leave right away but his next words cease her footsteps.

"Happy Birthday, Jill."

* * *

The lights had been so radiant. They had danced over her eyes in a kaleidoscope of captivating colors.

Her whole body was trembling. Her teeth chattering. Her skin snow white and ice cold.

 _Death had become her._

And even her own tears were chilling and lifeless on her skin, providing no comfort... no emotional release.

"Shhh..." A black visage shadowed her cowering form. It crouched low to her level and coaxed her into an almost enamored embrace. "Don't be afraid." Long fingers tangled in her soaked locks of dull blonde hair.

"What have you done... _to me_?" A sob cracked her voice in a thousand of pieces.

"Refined you, my dear." His breath was fiery air against the side of her face. "Gifted you with enhancements." His lips brushed along the tear drops on the top of her cheeks. _"Happy Birthday, Jill."_ His hands were brands marking the rest of her body.

The self-proclaimed god had claimed dominion not over just lasting death...

—but fleeting life as well.

* * *

She feigned illness at the end of the work day. Another visit would probably unhinge her sanity.

Wesker had uttered the same words when he took her out of the cryogenic chamber. She had never heard words with more malice than his.

Her eyes followed the red line as the _twenty-fourth of July_ next year was encircled on her wall calendar. The city had a little over a year before everything falls into loss and chaos.

She could still pack up and leave.

But wasn't this the point of having a second chance?

Being able to change something. Being able to shift the odds on their favor.

She would stay and play the role of heroine again.

Maybe this time she would be able to deliver.

* * *

 _8:48 p.m.—_ His footsteps against the wooden staircase sounded almost the same... though they were significantly lighter given his leaner build. The floorboards creaked noisily still even with his slighter weight. Her eyes stared at his black combat boots when he finally reached the landing she was sitting on. He had not changed out of the standard white S.T.A.R.S t-shirt and olive-gray pants.

"Are you feeling better now?" His hand was so familiar that her heart ached at the feel of his rough callouses.

"I told you it was only a stomach bug... I just had to take a fast acting drug for it." He helped her up on her feet. The denim skirt she was in was dusted off with her hands. One of her fingernails got caught in the frayed edges and she had to forcefully pull the loose thread off. He was smiling down at her in a sheepish way when she turned back to him. "What?"

"The red sweater looks good on you." A blush instantly stained her cheeks. She almost wanted to reach out and touch the five o'clock shadow on his grinning face. Maybe this time she could make a move _way earlier_ than before. Chris had held affection for her for a really long time. Maybe this time they could start again... like starting _now_.

"What took you so long anyway? I've been sitting here for an hour." She followed him up the stairs leading to the third floor of the apartment building.

"I thought I've already given you permission to break your way into my apartment, but only in an emergency!" A playful punch was delivered on his shoulder as they both shared a laugh. Her gaze noticed the packs of dark green and deep brown bottles secured in the plastic bags in his hand. Heineken and Budweiser pale lager beers. "And I got us these. It's no birthday if you're not at least getting drunk!"

They were both in for a fun night it seemed.

* * *

The color of his couch was off-white, mainly attributed to the dirt that had accumulated on it with time. The maroon carpet was being redecorated with crumbs of Doritos. She had seen the sink and the pile of unwashed dishes left in it.

Chris Redfield would always be a _slob_.

Only the small guest bedroom was kept relatively tidy. The maintained cleanliness was for his little sister's surprise and very seldom visits. She had definitely slept in that extra room more than Claire Redfield had ever did.

The wall clock read quarter to eleven. The Budweiser and Heineken bottles had been cleared. And they were trying to go through his reserved stash of six-pack Corona. He was on his seventh bottle of beer and she on her fifth. Maybe she should have stopped him on getting the third batch out. He was talking really loud already, laughing about the littlest of things.

And she had not started on what she wanted to tell him in the first place.

Chris was no psychologist.

But he was the next best thing she had at the moment.

He would understand... if she would be able to explain herself... _well enough_.

 _'Chris, I know what will happen in the near future.'_ Too psychic.

 _'Chris, I came from the future.'_ Too alien.

 _'Chris, I died and now this is like my second life and you have to hear me out and believe me.'_

—All statements sounded _nuts_ even in her own head.

"If S.T.A.R.S. is a class in school..." A hiccup. "Then you are the teacher's pet..." A slow-moving nod.

He was drunk.

"Wesker doesn't even ask you to redo your reports!", he whined. She started the clean up before the last drop of yellow liquid touched his tongue.

"That's because they don't have to be redone." The dishes could wait until she got some shut-eye.

"Right! Thanks for redoing mine by the way..." Her body was then engulfed in a bear hug. And the heat emanating from him seemed to chase her worries away.

 _She could live with this_.

He turned her towards him and placed a kiss on the top of her head.

"Happy Birthday, Jill."

Then he pressed his lips to hers.

* * *

 _May 24, 1997, Saturday_ —Her body clock had woken her up. A quick shower was taken before she squeezed herself into a pearl white minidress and a jean jacket with patches.

She had forgotten to finish her report and pass it on time. That would not do.

Her nights had been sleepless since her birthday. She was obsessing over the details about Umbrella's involvement in Raccoon City's establishment and its flourishing economy. How could she incriminate a conglomerate as powerful as this one _on her own_?

She got in the S.T.A.R.S office before lunchtime. Breakfast had been sadly skipped. She could be quick and polish that paperwork in no time.

"Are you pulling a double shift?" The swivel chair squeaked when her body jumped at the sound of his cold voice.

Wesker quietly closed the door behind him. He was wearing a white dress shirt and dusty blue trousers. The trademark sunglasses framed his face. She almost couldn't wrap her head around his casual outfit. He had simply been equated to the color black for all these years.

"No... I just have to turn this in." She willed herself to relax as she stared at his collected stance. His arm was still covered with protective dressing. She could nearly imagine those blackened tendrils slithering about his form... his red eyes flashing and burning with rage.

Her eyes fixated on the report in her hands as he made his way to his desk.

"Have you had your lunch?", he asked as her teeth worried over the plastic end of a ballpen.

"Not yet... I'll eat after this." She would have to get used to his presence. There was no other way around it for she had chosen to stay rather than run away.

"Are you angry at me?" The context was lost to her. But the question sounded heavy on her ears.

"What do you mean?" She shouldn't have asked. She didn't want to know the deeper meaning of his words. She could have just answered _'No, I'm not angry at you, Wesker, even when you're just a lying snake luring us into a trap.'_ Her hands busied themselves with the typewriter.

"Between the two of us involved in the incident, you are the more able bodied. Surely, you could have drop by. The address scrawled in your little planner has not changed." The monologue... or more like its implication left her speechless.

 _What the hell?_

She almost wanted to run when he began to approach. His shades had been left on the surface of his desk. His right arm reached out and grabbed her by the nape. She gasped at the contact and tried to move out of his grasp.

But he held her fast.

And crashed her lips to his a second later.

This world continued to be nonsensical.

* * *

The slap resounded in the rectangular office.

He hissed at the stinging red mark her palm had left on his face.

She wanted to push him. Hurt him on his injured side. But the confused look he then gave her sent her scurrying out.

Her role in this new world was not the heroine it seemed.

It was Albert Wesker's lover.

* * *

Back to the safety of her apartment, she lay on her single bed, trying to extract some truth out of the tiny cracks on the ceiling.

The alternate reality had a sick sense of humor.

 _Was she having an affair with Wesker?_

Her relationship with him during their days in S.T.A.R.S. had been comfortably professional. She had harbored a great respect for him. And he seemed to have held her in high regard... Though that regard had been ambiguous for the most part.

Her musings were interrupted by sturdy knocks on her front door.

She had a pretty solid guess on who could be her humble guest.

* * *

"I expected more from you." His tone clearly meant that he was not hoping for more of _their_ hush-hush romance. "You have a mouth. The least you could do is be clear about things rather than being this immature and dramatic." She doubted his feelings had been hurt by her _rejection_. He was most likely riled about the fact that she had slapped him... out of the blue.

It wasn't like she could tell him that the mere sight of his glasses stir murderous intent within her.

He wouldn't understand.

And she wouldn't want him to understand.

"You might as well have this. I have no use for it." His words were exuding venom. She felt it would be for the better if her eyes remained averted from his face.

A small glossy black paper bag was in his good hand. It was sealed with a navy blue ribbon. He placed it on the center table before her. Her body had yet to move from the comfort of the nearly ten day old green sofa.

She was at a loss of words. Her mind was torn between thoughts of stabbing him with one of the sharpened kitchen knives and opening the obvious gift that had been given.

"I expect things to be _normal_ once we resume working together this coming week. No more further _flings_ , Officer Valentine." Typical authoritative Wesker. But she had never heard him sound so _bitter_ about anything.

What _exactly_ did they have together?

* * *

White gold chain... Oval-cut ruby in a four prong setting...

The vermilion pendant seemed to beat under her scrutiny. It was like a miniature of the P30 device.

How fitting.

She could almost hear the world laughing at her. She could almost hear _him_ —laughing at her.

The modest necklace could only be something of high-end value.

Her current savings account would definitely look better with the added cash.

* * *

It wouldn't hurt to try it on.

The jewel gleamed right in between her collarbones.

So small and harmless. So red and careless.

If she was in a liaison with Wesker then she could access the inner works of Umbrella.

The clasp was secured at her nape. Her fingers toyed with the fragile gem.

If he was _in love_ with her... then she could get into the _heart of everything_.

The idea was toxic... almost too tempting...

 _—The puppet and the puppeteer reversing roles._

Not a bad birthday gift for herself.

* * *

 **Author's Notes:** As always, thank you for reading and the continued support! Your reviews/comments are most welcome~ :D


	3. ludus

_**Pulvis et umbra sumus**_

 _We are but dust and shadows_

* * *

 _Chapter 3: ludus {game}_

* * *

It was hard to induce recollection of the exact arrangement of events that had transpired more than a decade ago.

The frustration from not being able to give any warning to anyone was eating her on the inside.

But her self-appointed mission was well underway. And she would have to start small.

—start small with a simple apology.

* * *

 _June 6, 1997, Friday_ —It was Alpha team's turn to carry out the night shift.

"Do you have something to discuss with me?" And his question was strategically uttered the moment Barry stepped out of the office for a break.

She _definitely_ had something to discuss with him. She intended to avoid the actual talk for as long as possible. For the past week or so, she had been buying him coffee and conducting at her most efficient. Small ways that could place her back in his good graces.

Her fingers kept pressing on the typewriter's keys. But from her peripheral, she could see him take a sip out of the iced beverage. Medium roast with hints of blackcurrants and blackberries, unmistakably fruity with notes of wine flavor - a perfect coffee for the summer heat.

"First, thank you for the birthday gift." The necklace had not been traded for monetary fund unfortunately.

"You're welcome." Courteous as expected.

"Second, I didn't mean to slap you. I'm sorry." She sipped the rest of her own drink from the green straw. A word was misspelled again and she had to change the sheet.

"Third..." She abandoned her paperwork to look at him in the eye. "We... almost died. Or more like you almost did, Wesker. And I'm forever grateful for what you did... But I just... I just can't take the thought of someone else dying because of me." She was only guessing the nature and depth of their supposed relationship. But it couldn't be anything too serious, _could it_?... especially with someone as traitorous as him.

"Well said, Jill. The message is clear. You could have told me directly without resulting to violence." Prideful as expected.

Now, she would have to make him chase her somehow...

"I didn't mean for it... to end that way." Just a hint of regret and an ounce of hope.

The frosted door slowly swung open and Chris squeezed himself in the small space provided.

"What ended?" His tone was oblivious and obviously uncaring about what was being discussed. His focus was maintained on the fragile balance of several items in his arms - food and more work for them.

"Did you get me that danish, Chris?"

* * *

Kissing the captain on the most unsuspecting moment could probably do the trick.

But she couldn't muster the courage to do such thing.

There was a tangible difference between the monster who had been her master and the mortal man she found herself working with _again_ everyday.

She remembered settling into an easy sync with him. His orders were followed without questions... with no use of a mind control chemical. He had never been unreasonable about anything. And she had trusted and respected him... up to _the very end_... to the point that she had _doubted_ Barry first, a comrade who was almost a father to her.

And even now, with all of his foul machinations known, she somehow felt a nagging need... a need to try... a need to change his mind... a need to _save_ him.

She closed her eyes at the thought.

Why couldn't she be just as _cruel_ as him?

* * *

 _June 25, 1997, Tuesday_ —sounds of struggle echoed in the gym of Raccoon Police Department.

Chris had her in a head lock. A well-placed stomp on his foot loosened his grip. An open palm strike to his sternum made him visibly stagger back, but she felt a sharp strain on her arm after delivering the blow. She dropped low and kicked him behind the knee. He let out an undignified yelp as he bent over.

Then she jumped on his shoulders, thighs securing at the sides of his head.

They both let out a shout when she lost her balance as his body lost his. Their sweating forms fell on the mat with loud thuds. She somehow fell on her back, gasping for air, staring at the thin rays of moonlight that slipped through the R.P.D.'s windows.

Chris was panting loudly for a moment and then laughing on the next.

"Were you trying to break my neck with your thighs?" There was incredulity in his voice. She tilted her head up to look at him. A pang in her heart still plagued her whenever she gazed at his face longer than she should. The familiarity and unfamiliarity of him blending smoothly—creating a turmoil inside of her.

What if one of these days she woke up from this? What if she was just there to witness a repeat of what had happened before... unable to do anything to change the chain of events still?

Chris grinned at her and she smiled back, small and reluctant. They proceeded to relish in the good ache that was running through their limbs.

A heavy footstep rang in the stillness of the room, disturbing the peace. She wasn't surprised to see that it was Wesker standing there at the entrance, probably evaluating them behind the dark lenses that he insisted on wearing in the dead of the evening. Chris scrambled up on his feet to acknowledge their superior. She remained lying down on the floor, pretending to have trouble on catching her breath.

"Chris, Jill, we have a special case to take up. Be in the office as soon as you're able." She watched Chris nod attentively and then made a beeline for the showers. That was her cue to do the same.

Sitting up, she winced at the throbbing on her lower back. There was probably some bruising.

And the captain was not leaving.

"You seem to have learned some new moves." A chill crawled up her spine.

He had been _watching_.

* * *

For more than two weeks, she had shadowed Wesker without being too overt.

A new car in a more toned down shade would be more appropriate in her task.

He had been dropping by at the hospital to pay _his doctor_ a visit. It was pointless to just see things from afar. Evidence was what she needed. Incriminating ones.

She wouldn't obtain proof if she wouldn't somehow _earn his trust_.

—Up her game she must.

* * *

 _July 13, 1997, Sunday —_ The all black attire made her appear uncomfortably pale. Even her blue eyes looked dull. Only the vermillion jewel hanging around her neck looked lively.

Could she do this?

Pursue this? Pursue _him_?

She had deceived people, stolen valuables, and killed lives, innocent and not, _before_... all because of Albert Wesker.

And now she had to deceive him, steal from him, and hopefully kill him in the end.

There was a _fear_ in her. And she was glad of its existence.

It was proof of her humanity.

He had failed on making her into a monstrosity.

* * *

The diner's design was simple yet elegant with its spotless white cover cloths, sable black cushioned chairs, and the three fresh-cut red roses serving as the table's center piece.

"You're alone." She was. And he approached her instead of ignoring her presence.

It had been a gamble.

Raccoon City had a short list of worth the journey eateries. She recalled seeing him in one in the life that had already left her. She had just seen him in _this one_ in the week that had passed.

The window seat was now a proven vantage point.

He had surely seen her sitting there by her lonesome, drinking hot chocolate in a fine dining restaurant, and almost looking all sad.

"Yes... I didn't feel like cooking tonight but wanted some good dinner all the same." She made a demure show of tucking unruly strands of brown hair behind her ear. "How about you, Captain?"

"More and the same." His voice lacked that... _edge_... the certainty that had been probably born out of him overcoming death and being reborn as a so called 'god'. She had overcome death... _thrice_. Surely that should give her more confidence than what was brewing in her at the time.

They stared at each other for a long moment. The silence threatened to stretch on... And could render her efforts fruitless if _—_

"Would you mind having company?" She wouldn't mind at all.

It was part of her plan.

And yet her stomach seemed to turn when he finally seated himself across from her.

The racing of her heart was not helping either.

* * *

They both browsed over the list of main courses for dinner. Both so quiet with just the right amount of touchable tension... Anyone who would care to look their way would get the impression that they were a couple in the brink of their relationship's bitter end.

But that ship had sailed.

"Magret of Moulard duck... You want to try this?" His tone was bland, even he didn't sound enthusiastic about eating duck.

"I'm having the sole filet." She would not let him choose her meal... That time had come to pass. The time where in everything goes according to his whims... where in everything she does was according to his wants. Her decision was hers to make now.

"Wine?"

"No, I'm fine with a hot drink." The hem of her little black dress was adjusted. She looked like she was more on her way to a funeral, rather than indulging herself in an impromptu dinner date.

"Are the dishes here really good? They better be worth it with _these_ prices..." The dessert section of the menu was interesting. So many delicacies she would want to try.

Should she really be splurging money on food though? Maybe she should have gotten an automatic shotgun instead.

"They are. It's been a while since I last dined here... But the selection doesn't look changed." She looked over to him. He was surprisingly reading through the dessert section too.

"Don't bother with the bill. Your sleepovers had saved me some more cash to spend here."

Her sudden laughter broke the sternness of the atmosphere at their table.

She had been _sleeping_ with him and _cooking_ for him?

If the next 'revelation' that would come out of his mouth was along the lines of they were engaged or _worse_ married, then she would have to shoot something... or rather _someone_.

* * *

Regaining her composure, she straightened her back and cleared her throat.

"You think no one really knew... about us?... Not even a single soul in S.T.A.R.S. or at least in the Alpha team?" It would only cause confusion if she started asking her teammates if she was fooling around their captain. That would surely be scandalous in a way.

Better get the details straight from the source.

"I can say they haven't gone as far as placing a proper label on what we had before. But I believe they won't be surprised." S.T.A.R.S. wouldn't be surprised? How open had they been? Chris had mentioned _Wesker's favoritism_... How deep had she been in _his favors_? For how long?

A certain proximity with him would be helpful for her endeavor.

"That's pretty neat."

"It was."

She would have to eventually get rid of the finality in his tone.

* * *

Their dinner was soon served.

She couldn't get enough of the creamy mashed potato. It went along so well with the tasty fish filet on her plate.

He didn't get the duck dish. And a vague sense of triumph washed over her at the turn of events. Though the dry-aged beef on his plate looked mouth-watering... Why didn't she just ordered for the steak as well?

"It suits you." The warmth that crawled underneath her skin chest up caught her off guard. She shifted the off-shoulder neckline of her dress, making it slide a little lower. The upper hand should remain on her court. "The necklace."

 _Oh_.

She thought he was talking about the dress. It was new. And _black_. She didn't have such dark clothes in her wardrobe. It wasn't simply her style... But it was his soul.

"It's really nice... Thank you again. It must have been pricey." It was expensive... in a decent way. According to the local pawnshop, she could have gotten a good trade for it.

"Jill." A cold dread fell in the bottom of her stomach. It took all of her will to not stand in attention to _that_ tone of his.

Her gaze followed his movements. Slender fingers let go of the shiny silverware. He was looking at her... without the damned glasses. His eyes were so blue... so familiar... and _so wrong_. Her heart was caught in her throat.

"It will be for our benefit if we stop going about this... in circles." She should be ready. She was. She was _ready_ for whatever he would throw at her. She could take it.

"What should we do then?" A sip of lemon water eased her nerves.

"We talked about this before that unfortunate operation. If you were not that keen on ending things then you might as well move in."

Move in? Move in where? Her apartment was cozy. She loved it. Her rent was well taken care of. What was he on ab _—_?

She swallowed as he waited for her reply with the most patient face she had ever seen on him.

She meant to ask him if he would want to get back together before the night was done.

And he had asked her to move in and live with him instead.

She was fucking speechless.

* * *

The ride to her flat had been silent.

They were officially back together.

It was the most absurd sentence the world had to offer.

She had agreed to move in with him... once she was through on sorting things she deliberately left unspecified.

It was probably the most impulsive decision she had done in this life.

She was not in her early twenties anymore. She was a decade older... a decade wiser... ten years more experienced _than him_.

She could handle this charade.

* * *

 _He was kissing her_.

Like how he did that time in the office.

Tight grip at her nape, long fingers tangling in her hair, mouth hungry and forceful.

 _He was kissing her_.

Like how he did that time in the life before...

Other hand molding on her hip, slipping to her side... skipping her breast, skimming her chest... and sliding to smooth around the curve of her throat.

Slowly tightening...

Her body jerked away from him. She searched his face for that all consuming expression she had once seen. There was something else there... in his eyes... to dwell in it would be even more terrifying—so she let him kiss her again instead.

The hand at her throat refused to tighten even with her body's brimming anticipation.

Slowly caressing...

The carefulness was choking her.

* * *

She was regretting wearing a dress that night. The skirt felt like it was hiking up her thighs on its own, revealing her skin, making her vulnerable.

What did she expect from a relationship with him? He was a man in his late thirties. He wouldn't be contented with going on movies, or arcades, or just snuggling on the couch.

Her back hit the warmed wall of the second floor.

She should train herself to get used to this.

 _No_.

She should not let herself be affected by his touch.

The force of his kiss was returned with fervor. Fingers gripping on his shirt and hair. Legs wrapping around his waist.

Reluctance now gone.

She would be the one manipulating him.

Not the other way around.

He grinned against her lips, hips pushing against hers, making her pant.

"Aren't you eager..." That smugness on his face would be drained before this was all over.

But he was already setting her back on her feet _all too soon_.

"The briefing is scheduled early tomorrow morning. We'll have to postpone this." She pulled him down for a harder kiss. The flat sandals encasing her feet was making her exert more effort.

Why was he so damn tall?

A gasp escaped her lips when he suddenly turned her around, pushing her face first against the door of her home, pulling her hard against the warmth of his body a heartbeat later.

The hand clutching her hip skimmed over the cottony dress to settle on the flat of her abdomen. Her knees threatened to buckle and her eyes glared daggers on the scratches decorating the wooden frame.

 _What was she doing?_

She was better than this.

Men could be played. And he was still among mortal men. She could still play him.

He had no power over _—_

His lips fell on her shoulder, sliding over her bare skin, softly like a whisper. Heat and horror pooled in her stomach. Her hands grabbed for the knob and her keys...

Flee. Escape. Run.

Not now. Not yet.

His hand moved _lower_ , feeling along the seam of her panties... then _higher_... teasing along the slope of her heaving breast.

An all too hot haze clouded her eyes.

Her hand wrapped around his left arm, squeezing around the healing burns until he hissed in pain.

He released her.

Air rushed into her lungs. Clarity intruded her senses.

She faced him, spindly arms sliding about his frame, wet lips pressing at the open collar of his shirt.

A lingering kiss was placed on his mouth.

"See you tomorrow, Captain."

* * *

"Goodnight, Jill."

She had closed the door before her name slipped out of his lips.

Her heart was an animal in her ribs—trashing and uncontrollable.

 _Breathe..._

The face on the mirror was flushed. Skin damp with sweat, surely uncaused by the summer heat.

 _Breathe..._

The eyes on the mirror was dilated. Pupils blown out with desire.

Her necklace twinkled under the moonlight.

—Laughing and alive.

* * *

Death had rejected her again.

Drowning herself in the laboratory's lap pool had not been one of the brightest ideas.

Did she really did that though? Drown herself? Tried to end her own life?

Surely it was an accident. A moment of weakness.

She was better than that.

He was drenched... from head to toe. His clothing looked uncomfortable on him... wet and sticky. His fingers were pressed at the side of her neck, checking her pulse, counting the beats of her heart. Half of him was still in the water, distorting at the depths of it.

Her eyes stung. Her limbs leaden. Her chest hurt when she breathed.

" _W-Wesker..._ "

His gloved fingers twisted into her hair, pulling without warning, making her wince. She tried to move away but he held her firmly in place.

Then he was kissing her.

* * *

The hell master slithered out of the water, arms caging her soaked body, mouth stealing her breath, then giving it back.

Her hands balled into fists, trying to push him away. Her body was rigid beneath his against the cold granite floor.

The hand on her hip tore at the white gown, before sliding along her side... squeezing a pebbled breast, skipping her unblemished chest... and then slipping around her throat.

They watched each other's faces as she struggled for air in his hold.

"You dare defy me by dying?"

There were worse things than death.

He allowed her to breathe again. Her tears gathered in her eyes, blurring the image of rage on his face.

"Do you think death is final, Jill? The ultimate end? What do you think I have done to you?"

He was breathing over her, imposing and terrorizing.

"I... I'm sorry." Fear gripped her heart. "I won't do it again... So please..." Her breath hitched when he pressed his lips on the rim of her ear. She could feel him smile, sinister and sly. " _Please..._ "

His arms wrapped around her form, holding her close and seating her on his lap.

"You have no idea..." He nipped on the skin of her exposed chest. The lab gown was barely clinging on her body. "What I did to you... And what you will do... _for me_."

He sought her mouth, his kisses ravenous and scalding.

Death had rejected her again.

Its master had been too keen on being her keeper.

* * *

 _July 21, 1997, Monday —_ She had lived a little over two months in this second life. And today was most likely the worst day of her stay.

Wesker said S.T.A.R.S. wouldn't be surprised.

But Chris looked _hurt_ all the same.

"I should have known. It was pretty obvious. You two were always together." He seemed like he was talking to himself rather than her.

He had seen them kissing in the office. _Fucking kissing_. Nothing obscene for she had been acting like a shy virgin.

She wanted to tell Chris everything, about her plan, no matter how insane it would sound once it was out of her mouth.

Would it be safe to drag him into this without sure success in sight?

He looked so young, carefree even, surrounded by friends... so full of life.

"I'm sorry for kissing you that night... when you stayed over on your birthday." So he remembered. She thought he was too drunk to be conscious of it all.

It wasn't their time yet.

There were more pressing matters at hand.

She would have to persevere on her own.

But deep in her heart, she knew telling him soonest would be the _right thing_ to do.

* * *

 _July 23, 1997, Wednesday_ —There was a stark difference seeing _it_ under penetrating sunlight.

"You think anyone lives in it?" Edward asked as the helicopter slightly shifted to the right, providing a better view of the eerie residence.

"Looks pretty intact... But it does have that abandoned feel to it." Chris replied to his co-pilot, looking contemplative for a long moment or two. "It doesn't even look like it has a driveway. The owner probably thought it would be cool to build a mansion in the middle of the mountains. But then realized how inconvenient the whole set up was."

"What a total waste of money. I can never understand the way the minds of these rich people work!"

"Quite simple. They have the money to waste so waste they go." They steered the chopper back to the outskirts of Raccoon City.

"You okay, Jill? You're looking a little pale." She pried her eyes away from Spencer's mansion—the treacherous tomb of her teammates. Her hand was curled around Chris's shirt, frighteningly tight, her knuckles almost white.

"Yeah... It just looked haunted to me. I didn't know there's a mansion of that size in the thick of Raccoon forest." She had suggested that they fly over the mountain range. Hikers could be stranded. Campers could be in need of rescue. And zombies could be roaming the woods.

The possibilities were endless.

"You scared of ghosts, partner? Maybe we can suggest a team building exercise to the captain. An intense and terrifying exercise..."

"In a haunted mansion! Brad will piss and shit his pants!" Edward finished for Chris and the two snickered loudly. Jill couldn't help it but to smile at their antics.

Her gaze returned to the fading image of the manor.

 _She would have to break into the Arklay Mansion_.

* * *

 **Author's Notes:** This story will probably earn its M-rating around the fifth/sixth chapter. I'm weak to some good old smut, so expect it to come around soon enough haha!

As always, thank you for reading! Your reviews/comments are most welcome~ :D


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